Let Love Live

by Melissa Collins

  When I got home, Dad was waiting for me, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t sleep at all, and when the sun rose early the next morning, I got ready for Shane’s funeral.

  My stomach lurched up in my throat when we pulled into the funeral parlor parking lot. Police cars flanked the building and an officer on each side guarded the entrance. Dad parked the car and turned in his seat. “You guys stay here. Let me see what’s going on.” Before he stepped out of the car, he looked over at Mom, a sad and resigned look on his face.

  I watched the whole exchange from the backseat in utter disbelief. Dad began to wave his arms around angrily while the officer tried to keep him calm. He kept turning back to the car, and when he’d look back at the officer, his eyes were full of sorrowful begging. All the officer did was unfold a sheet of paper and shake his head.

  Turning away from the officer, Dad pinched the bridge of his nose, and returned to the car. “Dad?”

  “I’m sorry. They have an order of protection. You’re not allowed in. Something about slander.” Mom and Dad shook their heads in disbelief. As for me, I wasn’t that surprised. I had a feeling he’d keep me away. I just didn’t know he’d go to this length to do so.

  “Let’s just go home then.”

  I didn’t want to talk to anyone, so when we got home, I went straight up to my room. For hours, I watched out the window to catch a glimpse of the hearse passing down our block, driving Shane’s body past his home one last time.

  It never did.

  Exhausted from not having slept at all the night before and from the overwrought emotions of the morning, I spent the rest of that day sleeping. It wasn’t until around three the next morning that I woke.

  I left a note for my parents and packed my bag. I just had one more stop to make before I left for good.

  The freshly dug dirt was still piled in a mound atop his gravesite. I fell to the ground; all strength vanished the instant I saw his name etched in the cool, grey stone. As if it would bring me closer to him, I traced my shaking fingers over the letters. “I’m sorry…” I said it over and over again as if it would somehow absolve me of my guilt and ease me of my pain.

  When I’d cried myself dry and said all the “I’m sorrys” my voice could handle, I stood, brushing the dirt from my jeans. “I love you so much, Shane. I’ll love you forever.”

  I had to take the sun rising in the cold, November sky, as some kind of symbol that Shane was, in some way, there with me.

  Even though I turned and walked away, I never left him behind.

  “Dylan… that was…” Dr. Baker reached for a tissue, blotting away a few tears. “That’s an extremely traumatic thing for anyone one to go through, especially so young.”

  Since any kind of response would be pointless, I shrug and check the clock. “You said you didn’t see Reid again until Rebecca’s funeral. You never went back?” she asks when my silence becomes too loud.

  “There were times when I had to, holidays, birthdays, things like that, but my parents knew it was too painful for me. So, they never really pushed me. Reid left for college the next year and we just lost touch.” I move across the room and pour a glass of water.

  The buzzer from the waiting room surprises us both. “My next appointment,” she explains. As she walks me to the door, she offers her sympathies for what happened to Shane, for the hand I was dealt in his mourning. Before opening the door to dismiss me, she gives me a therapy patient version of a homework assignment. “See if you can’t figure out how everything you’ve shared with me is keeping you from getting where you want to be.”

  I pull a face at her. “Isn’t that your job?”

  She chuckles at me as she opens the door. “Don’t worry. I have some ideas, but I want to hear yours too. We’ll compare notes next week, okay?” Dutifully, I make my next appointment.

  On the way back to work, I decide I’m too distracted to spend the rest of the day in the office. So, I call Reid and tell him I’ll be working from home the rest of the day. We don’t have any appointments or sessions, so I’m not all too concerned about missing the time.

  As if they have something to tell me that neither my head nor my heart want to acknowledge, my feet take me to the doors of Michelson’s MMA. Conner is inside, chatting animatedly with a few customers. It’s impossible not to smile at him. There’s something different about me when I’m with him. When we’re together, the future no longer looks like something I’ll have to endure. Rather, it’s something I’m anxiously anticipating. The death and sadness that plague my past don’t disappear altogether, but the endless possibilities of what my life will be like with Conner in it have me looking forward rather than backward for the first time. The pain isn’t gone completely, but it’s less intense.

  He’s been nothing but open and honest with me, and all I’ve done is try my best to keep him at arm’s length – off in the distance where not dealing with my emotions is easier. Like a train blaring its horn as it passes an intersection, the answer to Dr. Baker’s homework runs me over as I stand there watching Conner.

  Spurred on by some mysterious newfound courage, I walk through the doors. A warm sensation of familiarity bathes over me as the bell jingles over my head. Rachel shoots me a death-ray stare from her seat at the front desk. “Can I help you?” Her icy tone tells me that Conner must have talked to her about my epic fuck-up. It also catches Conner’s attention.

  Once he sees it’s me, he excuses himself from the conversation in which he was just engaged. “What do you want, Dylan?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Well, I don’t have time for you right now. I’ll call you when I do.” Without another word, he stalks away, leaving me alone with Rachel and her fury. Knowing I can use Rachel as a way back to Conner helps soothe the sting of Conner turning his back on me.

  “Let me explain.”

  “You have two minutes.” She taps the face of her non-existent watch, making her take-no-prisoners attitude clear as day.

  “I screwed up and I want to make it right. I don’t know what he told you, but I’ve sorted out some shit in the last few days and I just want to have a chance to explain it to him. If I’m lucky enough, he’ll understand and maybe give us another chance.”

  “And if you’re not lucky?”

  “Then at least I tried.” I let out a sigh, pissed off at myself for even putting us in this situation.

  Us. Using it to describe Conner and me isn’t as scary as I thought it’d be.

  “He gets off at five today. Usually works out for an hour after that. Depending on how busy it is, he might stay to help close up with me, so I can’t guarantee what time he’ll be home.”

  Reading between the lines, her dismissal of me is clear. “Okay,” I mutter, resigning myself to the fact that I’ll just have to keep trying.

  “However, I can promise that he’ll go home by himself.” I turn back to her, a confused look on my face. “I’ll make plans with a friend. You can have some time alone to figure things out.”

  Her concession is sudden and it takes me more than a second to wrap my head around it. When I ask her why she decided to do that for me, her eyes narrow and she points an accusing finger in my direction. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for him. Even if he decides to never see you again, he at least deserves your apology.”

  I nod, agreeing wholeheartedly with what she’s just said. “Thank you.”

  She nods, and dismisses me as she answers a ringing phone.

  Since I don’t know for certain what time he’ll be home, I decide to take up residence on his crumbling stoop around four thirty in the afternoon. I’m prepared to stay all night. I’m pretty sure that Rachel won’t tell him I’ll be here. She seemed like she meant what she said.

  All I can do now is wait.

  An hour later, my ass is more numb than I ever thought possible. Pins and needles shoot through my legs as I stand. Trying to bring them back to life, I take a short walk up the block. The l
oud rumble of a familiar motorcycle vibrates through the air, pulling my attention back to Conner’s building.

  Covered in denim and leather, he’s the definition of a bad boy. But knowing what’s underneath that gruff fighter exterior, that the tattoos and piercings are nothing more than for show, that he’s an honest and sincere man who is kind, caring and playful underneath it all, alters something deep inside of me. The need to apologize, to get to know him even more, to give us a chance becomes so overpowering that rather than walk to him, I have to run.

  As I approach him, he pulls off his helmet and shakes his head. “I already told you. I don’t want to talk.”

  “You don’t have to talk.” Out of desperation, I reach for his hand, hoping he won’t shove me away. A sliver of hope comes alive as he looks at me. There’s something in his mocha eyes that tells me he might not have anything to say, but at least he’ll give me a chance to speak.

  He doesn’t take my hand, but he doesn’t push me away. He doesn’t say anything, but he lets me speak.

  “I’m sorry.” The rest of my words get stuck in my throat. I had them all planned out, but standing here in front of him, I can’t get any of them to function.

  “Is that all?” His curt tone is icy. It cuts through me, making me realize just how much I screwed up.

  I shake my head, frustrated with my own silence. “No, it’s not, but it’s a start. Can we go inside, please? The things I want to say don’t deserve to be said on a busy street corner.”

  He nods, his body language suggesting he’s not thrilled with the idea. In stilted silence, we walk up the stairs and into his apartment. He ushers us into the living room where we sit across from each other on a small couch.

  “You said you had something to say.” Coldly, he motions for me to start.

  “I already told you about Shane−”

  He cuts me off, saying, “And I already told you that using him as an excuse for not moving on is shitty.”

  “Let me finish.” I drop my hand to his leg and he stares at it. “You’re right. I know it’s a crappy excuse. But the more I think about the whole thing, the more I realize that I’m not using him as an excuse in the way you think I am.” Moving my hand from his leg, I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to re-group all of my thoughts from earlier. “I don’t want to move on because I love him… no wait, I mean… it’s that… fuck,” I curse at my own inability to speak.

  Conner’s less than welcoming attitude isn’t helping, but when he shifts in his seat, moves closer to me, and puts his hand over mine, I feel some of my sense return. I look into his dark brown eyes, feeling a sense of calm bathe over me. Letting out a deep breath, I finally feel like I have it all together. “If I don’t love anyone the way I loved him, I can’t let them down. They can’t hurt me when they leave.” My admission isn’t poetic or beautiful, but it’s honest and sincere.

  “That’s no way to live.” He tightens his grip on my hand.

  “I know. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve kept myself from getting hurt.”

  “But what’s been the cost?” Conner’s eyes warm even more, his concern for me, for us, crinkling in the corners.

  “Hopefully not you.” My words dangle out there on some kind of precarious ledge, waiting for him to either push them over, or pull them back.

  His huge arms wrap around me, pulling me tightly against his hard chest. “Not yet, but don’t test it again.”

  A low chuckle escapes my mouth. “I’ll try my best.” My words are muffled against his shirt. He breaks the hug; a lopsided, but relieved grin, spreads across his face.

  “Did you eat, yet?” I ask as he flops backward on the couch. His shoulders sag and his body looks wrung out. “Are you okay?”

  Scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, he creates that just-fucked look that his hair usually has. He huffs a loud sigh. “The last few days have been rough,” he admits, holding my stare.

  “I’m sorry I screwed up.” Leaning back next to him, I twist our hands together, reveling in the warmth.

  “I know.” He strokes his thumb over my wrist, a simple motion filled with so much meaning. “Just haven’t been able to eat or sleep much. About the only thing I have been able to do is workout. So I’m exhausted.” His yawn emphasizes what he’s just said.

  “Stay here and relax.” I reach across him and click on the television. “I’ll go make us something to eat.” He laughs at that. “What? I can cook,” I defend, pretending to be insulted.

  “I don’t doubt that. You’re just not going to find much in there.” He tips his head to the kitchen.

  “Then you’re just going to have to trust me.” A wink accompanies my words, as I walk into the kitchen.

  He calls out a final, “Good luck,” to my back.

  Scanning through the cabinets and the fridge, I have to admit; he’s right. There’s nothing here. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’s spent all his time at the gym.

  About ten minutes later, I’ve managed a simple meal. After setting our food down on the table, I call into the living room, but the only response I hear is the loud sound of Conner snoring.

  The couch shifts under my weight, but Conner still doesn’t wake. With the lightest of touches, I ghost my fingers across his cheek, cradling his jaw. His eyes flutter open. “Hey.”

  “Hi.” His voice is already sleep-roughened and raspy.

  With the tips of my fingers, I comb through his hair, loving that he relaxes into my touch. “Come on. Let’s eat and then you can get some rest.” He nods, stumbling to his feet.

  “Grilled cheese and soup?”

  I roll my shoulders, and slide his plate in front of him. “It’s all you had. You really need to go shopping.”

  “Sure, just let me sleep for like twelve hours.”

  We share a laugh and enjoy our meal, but even after his ten-minute catnap, he’s still beyond tired. “I’ll get going, let you get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He yawns as I finish clearing the plates.

  He wraps his arms around me from behind as I stand at the sink. Nuzzling into my neck, the whisker-roughed skin on his face scratches in the best of ways. “Can you stay?” His words fall timidly against my neck.

  Nodding, I turn in his arms, looking at his relaxed-with-exhaustion face. “Of course.” I brush his hair away from his eyes and lean in for a kiss.

  His lips are soft, passionately demanding. Within seconds, what I intended to be a sweet, innocent kiss, grows in intensity and heat. The edge of the counter bites into my back and the long, hard ridge of Conner’s erection presses against my own. Nipping and biting along my jaw forces an appreciative growl to escape my lips. Silencing me, his mouth returns to its assault on mine. Our tongues mingle together, a heated, velvety slide.

  Only breaking away for a second, I strip him of his T-shirt, tracing my fingers over the dark lines of his tattoos. Scratching my short nails up his chest, I stop briefly, plucking at his nipple rings, rendering him capable of only a growl and hip grind as a response. The heat of his body is missed as he pulls away from me.

  Pulling at my pants, he opens them with more finesse than I would have thought he was capable of. In the next second, they’re on the floor along with my boxers. The sight of Conner on his knees, stroking me as he looks up at me with hooded and lusty eyes is almost more than I can take. When he pulls me into his mouth, rolls his tongue around the tip of my cock, I push deeper into his throat, needing more of his wet heat. Groaned curses fall from my lips as he lets me fuck his mouth. My hands immediately go to his hair, holding him in place. “Fuck, Con… oh, my God…”

  Exhaustion give way to passion. This moment is as necessary as my next breath. Our connection is vital for my survival.

  With an audible pop, my dick is freed from his mouth. “Stay right here,” he stands, pummeling my mouth with a hard, hot kiss. He disappears down the narrow hall where I assume his bedroom is. A minute later, he returns, lube and condom in hand – and completely nak
ed.

  The sight of his powerful body, of his thick, hard erection, bobbing under its own weight, of his beautifully decorated arms and chest, heightens my desire. The gentle glide of his lube-slickened hand over my dick almost makes me come like some teenager jerking off for the very first time.

  I reach down, wrap my hand around his shaft, stroking at the same pace he’s stroking me. Our lips crash together before he sinks his teeth into my lower lip. Laving over the spot he just bit, he then trails his lips over my jaw, down my neck, before sinking his teeth into my neck. He pulls the condom up to his mouth, tearing at it with his teeth. Rolling it over my cock instead of his makes me grow another inch. “You take me this time,” he breathes hotly into my ear, turning us around so that he’s leaned up against the counter.

  With one hand, I reach around and stroke his dick, matching the rhythm of my fingertip prodding at his ass. Dripping the slick lube over his tight hole, I push into him, first with one finger, then with two. Pushing against my hand, my name falls like a curse from his mouth. His cock swells in my hand. “If you keep that up,” he pants, pushing against my hand over and over again, “I won’t last much longer.”

  I want him to come. I want to be the reason he explodes wildly. I want my name to be the one he screams. But I want all of that to happen with my cock buried deep inside of him. He bends forward, and I grab at his hips, easily gliding into him. “Fuck,” he cries, pushing his weight back onto my throbbing cock.

  “So tight,” I grit out, my jaw clenched, holding on to my control by a thread. The heat of our bodies and the sounds of sex fill the room. Voices grunting, skin slapping – it’s all consuming. We build a furious pace, one that I know I won’t be able to maintain for long. The deeper I go, the tighter my grasp on his cock. With a few more hard and erratic thrusts, my legs begin shaking, the sparks of electricity gather at the base of my spine. “Ahhhh… Conner…” his name is dragged out as I come on one hard push.

  Not even a second later, I feel the hot jets of his orgasm spurting over my hand. “Oh shit… fuck…” he grunts, fucking my cum-slickened hand. We crumble to the floor in a breathless, sticky mess. His back is to the cabinet, and my back is resting against his chest. With his arms draped over my shoulders, he holds me against him, kissing me on the temple. “I thought you were tired,” I question wryly, enjoying the feel of his laughter move in his chest behind me.